Sick, Sad, Millennium
by O PolemArch
Summary: A crossover with the universe of Warhammer 40000 tabletop game. This story is on hiatus until I can write a new part 1. The existing story will become part 2.
1. Chapter One

Chapter 1

Jane walked down the sidewalk back to her house alone, like she did every day, like she had done for the last two years.

_School sucks, _she thought.__

Not like it hadn't always sucked. But it seemed to suck more now than it had previously.

_A lot more than it did previously.__ At least before I had someone to share it with._

Jane tied to stop herself before that train of though went any further. She'd said it to herself a million times before, and all it did was make her angrier and more depressed than she already was. Daria Morgendorffer had been her best- well, only- friend. But no matter now. Daria had disappeared two years ago after storming out of her house in a fit of rage over her dysfunctional family. No one had heard of her since. She hadn't even said goodbye to Jane.

Of course, foul play had been suspect from day one, but there wasn't much evidence to support the theory of a kidnapping. For one, no one had seen anyone suspicious around town lately. Even in a larger sized suburb like Lawndale, there were always those who had nothing better to do than watch for things that were out of the ordinary. And nothing had been reported. Not a peep. There had been a police investigation, but Daria had taken enough of her things with her when she left that she could conceivably have settled anywhere. That, and the police were notoriously lazy around here. _Lawndale__'s finest, indeed._

Jane smirked, imagining Daria working as a librarian somewhere, sorting through the books, giving kids a hard time, and being herself in general.

But then Jane frowned. Somehow, she couldn't just accept that Daria had just had enough and moved out. Some things just didn't fit. Daria's favorite aunt, Amy, hadn't heard anything from her, either. Jane had talked to all the local bus drivers and train conductors, and even taxi drivers (the English speaking ones, anyway) and none of them could recall seeing a girl of Daria's description leaving Lawndale. _And she didn't say anything to me, damn it! She was just... gone. Without a trace. Missing in action. AWOL. Disaparecido. Poof... _

Jane forced her mind to go blank, not wanting to dwell on the subject. She turned her attention to the surroundings. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon in late autumn, and the sky was darkening as it sunk below the tree line. The trees were already far into their seasonal change of hue, and the sidewalk was littered with brightly colored leaves. A breeze blew and sent some of the leaves swirling into the air, like a little vortex of foliage. Jane inhaled deeply, to help herself keep calm. _Guess Wind's yoga techniques are good for something._ There was a scent of dead leaves in the air, and a little bit of cut grass. Some car exhaust and a wood fire rounded off the mix. There was also... ozone?

Sure enough, the distinctive, fresh smell of ozone filled her nostrils.  _That's weird..._

Before she could complete the thought, a brilliant flash of light erupted a few yards in front of her, accompanied by a roaring noise that felt like it was coming from deep inside her. Jane instinctively put up her hands in front of her face and turned away. It lit up the road like a second sun and was intensely white with a certain blue tint to it. The light kept up in intensity for a few seconds, and then faded along with the sound.

Jane blinked her eyes and tried to regain her bearings. She was still partially blinded by the flash. _It figures,_ she thought. _What more do I need to make this day complete besides nearly being blown up? Well, something like that. Come to think of it, what was that?_ She blinked her eyes again, her vision finally returning in full. She looked ahead, to where she thought the flash had originated, and noticed a large form on the ground. When she approached it, she noticed several things in rapid succession.

First, that the object was human, and alive, judging from the rising and falling of the chest.

Second, that the person was wearing a very unusual set of clothing. She (for it was a her- Jane could tell from the size of the chest area and the facial features) wore a large black trench coat with golden shoulder boards over a red and black vest. There was a medallion of sorts hanging from a ribbon around the neck, and the small collar, almost like a roman collar, held tight to the neck. She was also wearing shiny, knee high riding boots over her cargo pants, and the uniform was topped off by a black officer's cap that had a large golden double headed eagle pinned to the front. It had an eerily gothic look to it, which was complimented by the various skull icons that ornamented the uniform, like the buttons and the cufflinks.

Third, that the woman was very well armed. There were grenades and ammo pouches hanging from her belt, and a knife sheathed on her leg. In one hand, she held a large, ornate officer's saber that looked like it had seen a lot of action. In the other, there was a very large and dangerous-looking pistol. It was still smoking.

Jane, unsure of herself, but feeling curious, crept closer to the woman's prone form. From a distance she could see a large scar on the lady's face, running down from below the left eye, across the cheek, and down the neck. Then she noticed something else.

"It couldn't be..." Jane said, thinking out loud.

Jane rushed over to the lying form.

"It is!" She exclaimed. The unconscious mystery woman was none other Jane's best friend in the world, Daria Morgendorffer.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

A few minutes later, having been unable to rouse Daria from her slumbering state, Jane was having problems. It turned out that despite her diminutive 5'2" frame and skinny appearance, Daria was actually quite heavy and Jane wasn't able to lift her into a position where she could carry her and be sure she wouldn't get hurt. Jane hesitated. She didn't want to leave Daria just lying here, but she didn't have a cellphone, and her house was just around the next corner. This particular road was one of the few relatively undeveloped ones in the town, and there were no houses closer than her own. Biting her lip, she turned to Daria.

"Uh... Don't go anywhere...right."

Jane turned, mentally smacking herself, and sprinted down the road.

***

Trent was having a rather odd dream. He was playing a huge concert with the Spiral at an outdoor stadium, and a capacity crowd. But suddenly he looked around, and everyone was wearing a military uniform, and they had guns. Then the stadium was gone, and they were standing in an open field. There was a giant monster attacking the crowd and sending people flying all over the place. But it suddenly turned into Janey, and looked directly at him, and yelled "Trent! Wake up! Come on, you narcoleptic lump! Get up!"

Trent opened his eyes with a start to find his sister leaning over him. He was lying in bed, face up, wearing his pants but not his shirt, and his guitar lay on his chest.

"Woah, Janey. What happened? Are you OK?"

"Trent, I don't have time. I need your help. Get up!"

"But what's-"

"Come on! We've got to go. You'll find out in a second. "

"Alright, I'm coming." Trent sat up on his bed and took his guitar off, placing it gently on his bed. He paused for a moment, and looked around.

"What now, Trent?" Jane was frenetic, pacing back and forth on one of the clearer sections of the floor.

"Uh... have you seen my shirt?"

Jane stopped. "Wha-? You-? Oh. Here. Let's go!" She picked up Trent's shirt off his bed, threw it in his face, grabbed his arm, and dragged him outside as fast as she could.

Trent didn't say anything for the short trip outside. He let himself get dragged along and he put his shirt on. _Janey's__ been a little weird lately... well, Daria did go missing and all… She must still not be over it yet. Well, no harm in going along with it.._ Trent was one of the few people who really knew how hard Jane had taken the last two years. She didn't really talk to anyone else but him.

As they rounded the corner, Trent noticed the person lying on the ground. _Huh. Must have been some party...wait, there's no houses around here. Weird._

"Hey Janey, what's up? This guy's like... sleeping on the sidewalk. I mean, I do that, but I really-" Trent's voice trailed off when he saw the face.

"Woah! It's Daria. That's- that's crazy."

Jane, exasperated, rolled her eyes.

"Excellent observation, Watson. Now get over here and help me carry her to the house."

***

Daria drifted slowly back in consciousness. She was only slightly aware of the bed under her, or the fact that she wasn't wearing her trench coat or pistol belt. Her head hurt, her back hurt... lots of things hurt. It took too much energy to keep a count, so she stopped trying. She opened her eyes slightly to find the world a grayish blur. _Good god, or emperor, or whatever deity pleases: Where the hell am I?_ She leaned over to the right and groped around in the blur. Her hand found a nightstand. She searched for her glasses on top of it, but the instead encountered the warm rubber grip of her bolt pistol. _What the... Oh yeah. I'm an idiot. Damn optical implants._ She ceased her search, and instead tapped a small metal skull protruding from the side of her temple. She heard a small whir, and the world flew into focus. It consisted of a small room with a white ceiling and yellow walls. Suddenly, she heard a clank above her to the left.

Instinct kicked in. Daria rolled to her right, grabbed her pistol as she rolled off the bed, landed, came to a crouch, flicked the safety, and put a round in the direction of the noise before she even had time to consciously think about what she was doing.

BANG-hiss-_BOOM!_ The source of the clanking noise, Penny Lane's former "room chime," was blown to pieces by the explosive shell that detonated within an inch of it.

"GAH! Jesus Christ, Daria! Don't shoot! It's me! Don't shoot!"

Daria was confused. Daria? _She called me Daria? No one ever calls me by my first name..._ She stood up and looked around, pistol at the ready. There was someone on the other side of the bed, lying on the ground with her hands over her head. She had a familiar red shirt on, and a very familiar short black haircut.

"Jane?" Daria relaxed a bit and let her arm fall to her side. Jane got up from the floor and faced Daria. She was still a bit shocked from having a .75 caliber handgun fired within feet of her face. _WhatamIgonnasay__ whatamIgonnasay whatamIgonnasay! Something… special…uh…_

"I see you're up."

_Damn! _Old habits die hard.

"How'd you figure that one out?" Deadpanned Daria.

They stared at each other for a tense second. Memories flooded back, and their emotional dams burst. They ran towards each other and embraced.

Daria and Jane's moment together was brief, though, because seconds later, they heard the sound of feet pounding the floor in the hallway. They both looked up to see Trent burst through the door with a 12 gauge shotgun in his hands.

"Janey! Daria! Are you OK...Oh. Hi Daria. Did I, uh, interrupt something?"

"Uh, hi, Trent." Daria couldn't help but notice, detachedly, that Trent was holding the gun all wrong and he'd probably have broken his wrist had he tried to fire it.

Jane was incensed. "Trent, what the hell? And where did you get that shotgun?"

Trent looked at the weapon in his hands as if he had forgotten that it was there.

"Oh, this. It was under my bed."

"How did it get there?"

"Long story. I don't want to talk about it."


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Daria and Jane sat in silence at the old table in the Lane kitchen, enjoying some fresh coffee that Jane had brewed after the small skirmish that had taken place upstairs. Trent was out at the store under orders to not return unless he came bearing food that had more nutritive value than the black liquid that they all loved so much. They sat in silence, Daria savoring the first cup of coffee that she'd had in years. She was sitting slumped back in her chair, wearing a grey t-shirt, her cargo pants, and boots, having left her coat, vest, pistol belt, medallion, and the armor plate that had been concealed under her vest upstairs. The scar on the left side of her face could be seen in it's entirety now, extending from the eye to the top of the collarbone. It was jagged in places, and Jane couldn't stop staring at it, in spite of herself. Daria looked up from her coffee.

"See something you like?"

Jane snapped out of it. "Oh, sorry, Daria... I just... how did you...?"

Daria looked puzzled for a moment, but soon figured out what her friend was talking about by the expression on her face. "Oh, that?" she said, touching the scar, "Bad luck. APC exploded under me, and I got caught by a piece of the turret. I've had worse." 

"Worse? Daria, that looks almost as bad as one of my paintings. What could be worse?"

Daria shot Jane a look that said "well, you asked for it," and pushed her chair back from the table. She put her right leg up on another chair and, with a small grunt, pulled her boot off, and pulled her pants leg up. Jane gasped. About halfway down the shin, Daria's pale skin ended and two gunmetal grey tubes continued where the fibula and tibia ought to have been. These were attached via a mechanical joint to a segmented foot, about the same size as Daria's natural one would have been. There were wires of various colors running up and down it. Daria flexed her "toes," now made of metal, and the slight whirr of servomotors could be heard. Jane's jaw dropped and she just stared. Daria smiled her curious little half-smile.

"Like it?"

"Daria, that's awesome!- well, not that you lost your foot, but- wow, is that even possible? What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure. It was either that bug that collapsed on me, or one of those rippers might have gnawed it off... that night's a little blurry. Woke up in the apothecarium three days later." Jane looked puzzled.

"Bug? Ripper? Apothecariwhat? God, Daria, where were you?"

"One at a time, Lane. First, I don't really expect you to believe what I'm going to say. I had a lot of free time to think it over, and I figured that if I ever got back I wouldn't tell anyone, since that would be the fast route to the local loony bin. That was before I lost the foot. Now... oh, what the hell. Jane, the night I left my parents' house, I was transported 38,000 years into the future to another planet, joined the commissar corps to avoid being drafted by the guard, got promoted in battle and traveled around the galaxy fighting aliens and traitors." Jane sat still in a shocked silence. Daria waited several seconds, then put both of her feet back on the ground and made to get up.

"I'll just go call the men with the white suits, then-"

"No, Daria," said Jane, cutting Daria off, "I, I, well, I wouldn't normally believe that, but your leg, and the flash, and your face..." She trailed off. "Go on. This is too crazy to have been made up anyway. What's a commissar?"

"Think of a Stalin-era political officer, but much more involved. We advise officers, keep discipline, and take over if the officer is killed or decides he'd rather run and increase his chances of survival."

"Oh. Um... what if an officer decides not to listen to you?"

Daria hesitated, as if ashamed or afraid of Jane's reaction. "In that case, I would be authorized to use, um, force." Jane opened her mouth as if to ask for explanation, but the tone in Daria's voice made it clear to her exactly how much force she was authorized to use. Jane's mind raced to find another question, not wanting another awkward silence.

"Uh... which army did you say this was again?"

"The Imperial Guard. The 142nd Cadian regiment, to be specific."

"Imperial? What empire?"

"Right, you don't know. Well, to make a very long story short, there was this superhuman guy who took over- well, I guess, will take over- all of mankind, which had been scattered between worlds and plunged into a dark age, in about the 29th Millennium, and united it under one banner. That's the Emperor of Man. He went about conquering most of the galaxy for about a millennium-"

"A millennium? What, was he Lazarus Long or something?"

"I said he was superhuman. Almost immortal. Anyway, in the 31st millennium, about half of his genetically engineered space marines-"

Jane interrupted Daria again. "Do they always have genetically engineered soldiers? I thought that was just a cheesy B-movie plot device."

"They're real enough. Vicious bastards, too, and dammed hard to kill. Glad they're on my side. Or, at least, I've never met any that weren't. Thank the Emperor…" Daria noticed Jane's puzzled expression and paused. 

"Oh, right. Got used to different expressions- referring any deity but the Emperor was heresy and punishable by death. Forced myself to change vocabulary. Anyway, about half of them decided that they'd rather serve themselves than 'him on Terra' and tried to take over the galaxy for themselves. Came close, too. The Emperor was seriously wounded fighting off one of his Generals. That whole incident touched off a state of constant war that hasn't ended since. Or will not have ended. Damn future tense."

"Where's your Hitchhiker's Guide when you need it?"

"I think I left it in the Heart of Gold. Let me know if you see it."

"I'll get Marvin on that."

"Right, anyway, there's a lot more involved, but that's the gist of it. The Imperium, my employers, worship the now near-dead Emperor, who resides on the golden throne, which I think probably covers most of the eastern seaboard."

"Funny. I never took you for the God fearing type."

"Well, you know how Paris was worth a mass? So is not dying."

"That makes sense. Go on."

"Right, so there are also a lot of aliens, but being humans, we're of course deeply xenophobic. A lot of it is justified- there are things like the bugs- tyranids, a gigantic hive mind of insect creatures who devour worlds, and the orks, who just like to kill things, that the whole galaxy would be better off without. But I can't help feeling bad for some of the others, like the Tau or Eldar. Well, insofar as I feel bad for anybody."

"Looks like I was wrong. I thought two years of brutal warfare would put some humanity in anybody." Jane meant it as a joke, but she could immediately tell she had struck a chord. 

"Daria- I didn't mean that."

Daria responded quickly. "I know... just... so much death." She stared off into space for a moment, and then changed the subject. "So, yeah, I lost the foot during a tyranid invasion. I was trying to hold a landing base we were using to evacuate the planet, and we were almost overrun. I thought we had been, but then I woke up and one leg was shorter than the other. Lost my glasses down there too- that's when I got these implants." She pointed at the tiny knobs coming out of her temple. "So... what have you been doing the last six years? Lawndale still the hell I remember?"

"Six? Daria, you were only gone for two years." She smiled. "Maybe you are crazy."

"Figures. Damn time travel. Even in the future nothing works."

"Yeah, about that- how did you get from here to there?"

"Hey Jane, I'm a soldier, not a theoretical physicist. Teleporter accident?"

"Sure. Though… come to think of it, how did you wind up in a combat branch? Don't they have intelligence services in the 40th Century?"

"Millennium. I had though of that, but I took one look at the people they had in all of the support branches, and decided against it. All of them are covered with implants and have various and sundry objects sticking out of them. You get things like guys with microphones sticking out of their mouths, and exposed skulls with antennas coming out. Didn't want to be turned into a machine. That, and the quality of their medical science varies. They have the technology to replace lost limbs, and put implants in eyes, but the surgery can sometimes border on ritual. That whole 'emerging from a dark age' thing. I'm happy I was unconscious when they put in these implants and the leg."

"…Oh."

Just at that moment, Trent returned from the store with a pre-prepared rotisserie chicken and some two liter soda bottles. He put them down on the table and started rummaging through drawers. He pulled out a large carving knife and Jane saw Daria tense up for a moment. She relaxed when he put the chicken on a cutting board he'd pulled from some obscure cabinet and started cutting it apart.

"Trent," said Jane glancing at the bird he was hacking to pieces, "What's the occasion for this mighty feast?"

"Well, Daria's back, and I thought she'd like this more than Chinese. Well, and you also said to get something easy. This was already cooked."

"Wow, so you do have a brain. Been hanging with the scarecrow lately?"

He chuckled and then coughed. "Funny, Janey."

They ate with gusto- Jane because she was happy again, Daria because this tasted so much better than the trench rations she'd lived on for what seemed like an eternity, and Trent because- well, he was hungry. Though she tried not to show it, Daria was still troubled. She'd been wondering about her family ever since she'd fully woken up_. I mean, they were never really caring, but they were still family... They must have been worried, right? I don't know. It's not like they ever paid any attention to me. Well, only one way to find out._  Daria made up her mind to see her parents at the next chance she got. She looked out the window in the kitchen and saw that the sun was very low in the sky. She yawned. _Well, maybe tomorrow. Damn jetlag. Or is it teleportlag? Whatever._


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Daria dreamed. She was crouching in the center of an artillery crater. Her boots sank slightly into the mud at her feet. Above her, lying on the rim of the crater, soldiers lay prone, firing furiously at an unseen foe.

_Oh no. I know this place. Not here. Not again._  

Men yelled for ammo, screamed for medics, and muttered prayers. Shells exploded in the distance. One landed close and showered the makeshift trench with mud and debris. A finger landed a few feet in front of Daria. She saw it, and felt that she should be disgusted, but she saw herself ignore it. The dream went on, despite her attempts to resist it.

"There's another mob of them on the left! Shift the bolter!"

The two man crew swung their weapon around and opened fire. The crater lit up like it had been spotlighted. The distinctive BOOM-_SCREECH!_ that the heavy bolter emitted with each shot formed a wall of noise through which all other audio communication was impossible. The gun bucked as the crew attempted to keep it under control. Huge brass shell casings rained down on Daria. Her thick clothing and leather gloves kept her from getting burnt. The crew paused for a moment to look for more targets. The sudden silence was deafening. The squad's sergeant called out.

"Ma'am! There's too many of them! They'll be on us in a second if we don't fall back!"

Daria pulled out her bolt pistol, made sure it was loaded, checked the sights, and chambered the first round. It was, at this point, brand new. She had just acquired it, favoring its large, .75 caliber explosive rounds over the standard, weaker laspistol. Never hurt to have more punch in a bad situation. Which pretty much described her entire life, by now.

"Commisar Morgendorffer?"

"Sergeant, do you remember what our orders were?" she intoned over cracks of the soldiers firing their lasrifles.

"To hold this line, yes ma'am, but look at…" 

Daria cut him off. "Then that's exactly what we will do." She unsheathed her power sword and fingered the activation rune. The blade flickered to life, glowing faintly blue and humming. In her command voice, she shouted "Affix bayonettes! Prepare for enemy contact!"

With practiced ease, each soldier pulled his knife from its sheath and attached it under the barrel of his rifle, and then resumed firing. Each was a veteran of several campaigns, and so while no guardsman in his right mind would ever want to hear that particular order, they were used to it by now. The sergeant looked at Daria for a moment, in the dim hope she would reconsider, but then resigned himself to the inevitable. He pulled his chainsword off his back and started it up. The blades that made up the leading edge of the weapon roared to life, and he turned back to the trench edge and fired some more shots with his laspistol.

Daria watched herself approach the crater edge. _Oh god, here it comes. Somebody wake me! Please! _She saw herself carefully put her head up and peer over the rim. There were Orks. Lots of them. They had mobbed up behind a ruined building about 100 yards away. Some of them would stumble outside the rubble, and those would be picked off, but there were at least 80 of them safe inside. They seemed to be waiting for something.

And Daria saw exactly what that was a few seconds later. Two wartrukks, jury-rigged open top contraptions that looked to be more dangerous to the occupants than their enemies, pulled up behind the building, somehow surviving the Imperial hail of fire, and another 20 or so orks joined their kin. Bolstered with confidence by their reinforcements, a feral "wwwaaaaAAAAAAAGGH!" rang out and they began to charge, stumbling over debris and fallen comrades, but moving inexorably forward and gaining momentum.

Daria leveled her pistol and took careful aim. An ork, becoming overconfident, had gotten ahead of the rest. Daria pulled the trigger and its face exploded. Red blood spattered the other orks coming up behind, darkening their green skin. They swarmed over and past his body. The wall of "greenskins," as they were commonly called by members of the Imperial Guard, moved ever closer. Daria flicked her pistol into automatic, knowing there wasn't much chance of a miss at this range. She emptied a clip and reloaded. There were still too many orks left to count.

Then came the part of the dream that Daria hated most. The human and ork lines met. Men screamed from adrenaline and fury as they stabbed forward, skewering the first orks in line. A few men were cut down by the giant axes wielded by their foes. One ork jumped over the body of a trooper that he had just eviscerated and charged Daria, "choppa" held above his head. As he swung, Daria parried high with her power sword and shot him in the stomach with her other hand. She sidestepped as he fell forward, bleeding profusely. Another charged her from the side, and she stabbed it in the chest and took its head off for its trouble. The energy field that surrounded the sword made passing through even an ork's thick bones as easy as slicing butter with a razor. She paused momentarily, and was showered with blood and bone fragments that the sergeant's chainsword had ripped out of another enemy.

Three more approached her, holding spiked clubs. She went to shoot them but her gun simply beeped in protest, having run out of ammunition. There was no time to reload, so she dropped it. She swung forward with her sword and took the left arm of one of the orks. Stubbornly, it continued to flail at her. The other two attacked at the same time. She deflected one blow, parried another, and sliced one ork down the middle. She turned around to strike the other, and looked up… to find a spike embedded deep in her side. She shuddered and fell…

And sat bolt upright in bed. She looked around, shocked, for a moment. She felt her side. There was a large, jagged scar there. She sighed, and collapsed back into the bed. _So this is what it feels like to have post-traumatic stress disorder. Wonderful._ She rolled onto her side, facing the door. The hallway was still dark.

_God, I'm someone else._ She wondered vaguely if her family would even recognize her anymore. _Probably not._ Agitated, she got up again. She didn't feel tired anymore. She had been sleeping in her underwear, an olive drab green sports bra and panties, and so she turned on her optical implants to search for her clothes. She tapped another tiny button on the side of her temple and the room became reddish and bright to her.

_This thing is damn useful_, she thought, finding the light switch and turning the night mode back off. She pulled on her fatigue pants and her t-shirt, and looked at the clock. It read 3:00AM. Daria sighed. Feeling vulnerable without any weapons, she strapped her sheath knife to her leg. Daria turned the light off, and walked down to the Lane living room. She looked around, lacking direction. On a whim, she turned the TV on.

_I wonder if the channels are the same,_ she though absentmindedly. She flicked a button on the remote and the channel changed. A familiar eye and spiral logo came up on the screen, followed by a picture of a man with red skin, horns, a robe and a mortarboard hat.

"Classroom number six-six-six? Pentagrammic architecture? Textbooks in old Germanic? Demons in detention? Welcome to the high school from Hell, next, on Sick, Sad, World!"

Daria smirked. _Here's to the simple pleasures in life._ She watched TV until the sun came up, and then she made coffee for Jane. She had a long day ahead of her.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter 5

It occurred to Daria after her first cup of coffee that she really ought to take a shower. She still smelled like a well used trench, and although Jane and Trent didn't seem to notice, that was probably because there were things in the house that had worse odors and they were used to unusual smells. Her family, on the other hand, might not be so benign. Daria could picture Quinn scrunching her nose and screaming "EEEEWWWWW!" before she even saw who was producing the stench. She also realized that her uniform was also probably in need of a good washing. She'd have to commandeer some clothes for the interim. She was about to go rouse Jane to ask her to borrow some clothes when Jane saved her a trip by stumbling into the kitchen, one eye closed and the other half-open.

"Mhrrng."

"Morning. Uh, Jane? Could I borrow some clothes? I need to take a shower and wash these…"

"Chfhffeh."

"What?"

"Cffhey!"

"Oh. Here." Daria poured Jane a mug and handed it to her.

"Right, so I'll just go take those clothes…"

"Wtvruh."

Daria took that answer as an affirmative and made her way upstairs. Jane's room was even more of a mess than Daria remembered. There were paint tubes, brushes, palates, and various other art supplies lying on the floor, mixed in with food wrappers and lots of black clothing. The bed was unmade, and the walls were lined with dried and drying canvasses. The artwork, at a casual glanced, looked somewhat tortured. Some of the canvasses were ripped, and most made heavy use of dark colors and reds. She picked her way across the room to the closet. There were a number of identical outfits inside, and the vast majority of them were black. 

_Huh. I remember Jane always wearing red and grey. Did she throw out all her old clothes?_

Daria rifled through the draws in the closet, searching for something appropriate. The best she could come up with was an oversized T-shirt and a pair of running shorts, so she changed into that, half padded-half clanked barefoot back to Penny's room, gathered her uniform, moved her knife to her left forearm, and walked down to the basement, to find the washing machine gathering dust. Idly wondering what setting to set the machine on- automated servitors had always washed her uniform for her, first in the Schola Progenium, and later shipboard between deployments- she put her clothes inside and added some "color safe" detergent.

_I wonder if this stuff gets out blood stains or powder burns?_

She turned the machine to a mildly warm setting and started it, figuring that if it could handle repelling "Da Green Kroosade," as the orks called it, it could take some warm water and soap for fifteen minutes. She went back upstairs.

---

Daria had always found the shower a good place for thinking. The rhythmic feeling of the warm water on her back helped her to sort through her thoughts, put words to nagging feelings, and get a sense of perspective on things. She thought about her family.

_Emperor's Throne, what did they think happened? I remember storming out, ignoring them- I'd had enough. Enough of their "Quinn is better" BS, enough of their preaching over the merits of dressing right and being social, just- enough. They probably hate me. I would, were it me. Well…I don't know. What would I do if Jane had done that to me? God, what must she have had gone through? Me, just gone, completely? S. That would explain all the black. Mourning colors. And she says two years. Smooth, Morgendorffer. Be happy she doesn't hate you, too._

Daria played idly with her dog tags, and leaned up against the wall of the shower stall.

_Well, what can I do now? I'm 22 by my time-my body's time. I can't go back to school, really. I already know more than I'll ever need to pass that and get a G.E.D. But all I really know is fighting and strategy. Maybe some battlefield mechanics and medicine. Jobs in that arena are a little hard to come by around here. I'd join the army, but how the hell would I ever explain this leg? Or these knobs in my head? I guess I could write about it, pass myself off as a sci-fi writer. Could work. I'll have to figure out some way to interface my dataslate with a computer around here. And here I thought that before I didn't know anyone. Hah. I know some Inquisitors better than I know people here, and they usually try to shoot you if you talk too much. Thank the Emperor for Jane._

Daria felt the water start getting cold, and reckoned that enough was enough. She got out, toweled off and put her borrowed clothes back on, and put her knife back on her forearm. She found a comb and a rubber band in one of the drawers under the sink, straightened her hair, and tied it back in a ponytail. She usually kept her hair like that or in a French braid. It kept it out of her face in combat and helped it fit under her cap. She was about to open the door to leave someone banged on it hard. Daria jumped back and in a flash had her knife unsheathed and in her right hand.

"Hey! You okay in there? Did you fall in?" Jane yelled, apparently having consumed enough caffeine to be functional once more. Daria breathed a sigh of relief and put the knife back in its holder, and opened the door.

"Actually, yes. I went down into the sewers and had a radical time with Splinter, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael. Then I came up and had just enough time to shower before you got here." Daria's old sarcasm was re-asserting itself. She hadn't had much chance to use it in the past six years, because mouthing off to superiors carried a rather painful penalty, and it was bad for morale to let the troops know what you really thought of your orders. Also, the 39,000 year gap between the culture of her upbringing and theirs had rendered many of her comments useless to begin with. 

_That_ had made things interesting. When she had first… appeared? Landed? Arrived, say- she had found herself in the lower part of a hive world. An entire planet covered by urban sprawl, layered and honeycombed with buildings, streets, alleys, roads, and people. There were at least thirteen different languages spoken down there, not including High Gothic, the imperial standard. Some of them were English based; others on other languages- High Gothic itself seemed to be an unusual mix of English and Latin. She learned it quick enough, but those first few days were a race to stay alive and figure out what the hell was going on. She found a relatively quiet alley next to a thoroughfare and observed, grabbing food when she could. She'd noted the different gang colors, knew what time the police- the Adeptus Arbites- would sweep the streets looking for lawbreakers, what days the Guard and Navy "recruitment squads"- press gangs- would come looking for trouble, which religious orders were benign and which were belligerent, which techpriests one could barter with for ammo and which would rather shoot you themselves, and learned the local pecking order. 

She was quickly schooled in the art of fighting- It wasn't very long before some young ganger decided he or she didn't like Daria's looks, or sometimes, liked them all too well. She'd won her first fight by sheer luck- he tripped and dropped his knife, and Daria kicked him in the head while he was down until he was unconscious, then robbed him blind and ran. She didn't feel remorseful until later that "night"- the lights in the cavernous city were dimmed for half of the day to simulate the day/night cycle one might have observed outside- but at the time it was simply surviving. 

Many more fights came and went. When she finally decided that she wanted to get out of that hellhole and walked into the recruiting office for the local Schola Progenium, the Imperial officer's academy, she was more than a match for any of her fellow students, even the ones who'd had influential parents and formal training. She graduated into the Commissar Corps about a year and a half later, by her own count, and never returned to that planet ever again. She'd been to others like it, but always in uniform and fully armed. No one who wasn't already in open rebellion ever messed with her again. Commissars were feared for a reason.

Daria snapped out of her reverie. Only a few seconds must have passed, since Jane seemed not to have noticed.

"Touché, salesman. So- what's the plan for today? Cruisin' round town? Comeback tour? Painting the town red? Standing up straight and proclaiming, 'I am'?"

"Well…" Daria hesitated. _How much does she know about my family? How have they treated her?_ "…I was thinking of going over to my old house to see my family. I know I used to hate them, but I need to know what's happened. I mean, I did storm out on them..."

"Wouldn't know. They pretty much declared me _persona non grata_ when I kept bugging them to keep looking for you when they though that you were really gone and wanted nothing to do with me. I think it was my breaking in and searching your room for evidence that put them over the edge." Jane scowled. Not knowing what to say, Daria was mute. There was an awkward silence.

"Speaking of which, Daria, why _did_ you storm off? And how'd you travel through time to begin with?"

Daria paused and looked at the ground. "I…"

Jane was growing impatient. "Well?"

"…was hoping you wouldn't ask me that. I guess… well, look. There were a number of reasons. That had been a really bad week to start. Our museum trip was canceled, Dad lost another client, Quinn just maxed out Mom's credit card on shoes for the third time, and half my Kafka collection was coated in Dad's coffee when he came in to wake me up that morning. Then…"

"That's it? You ran away because of some wet books! What the-"

Daria held up her hand and cut Jane off. "Wait! I'm not done. They… they'd spent my college fund. I found out when I came home early that Friday, you know, when Barch let the class out early? They'd left their bank statements lying on the kitchen table. I wouldn't have normally cared but I saw my name on the paper and took a look. Y'know all those retreat they went on and all that "intimacy counseling" they used to go to? Came right out of my fund. They'd just closed it out. I know it sounds like nothing really serious, as if they weren't able to make the money back again, but I'd just… I'd just had enough. I threw all my clothes and a bunch of books in a bag, with my notebooks and a floppy of my journal, and left. I threw the bank statement in their faces when they tried to stop me. They just- stood there."

"I don't know where I would have gone. Well, your house, yeah, but… I don't know. I guess I figured I'd come back after a few days, make them feel bad for it, but… well, that never happened." Daria paused, to let this sink in a bit. Then, trying to feign indifference, she changed the subject.

"As for the actual transport- I'm not sure. I was on my way to your house. I heard chanting voices, a loud roaring, then blueness. Then there was a flood of images- faces, sounds, smells- and then I woke in a deserted alley on an imperial hive-city world. From what I learned in the Schola Progenium- that's the academy for officers- It was probably a Warp rift. The Warp is another dimension, kind of, that exists alongside of our own. We use it for transportation, like hyperspace, from Star Wars, but it's unstable, and rifts happen every so often. It's also really dangerous. I'm lucky to have survived a trip through one. Starships sometimes don't even make it that far. Come to think of it, that's probably why I experienced six years while you only two. There's no time there- at least, not in the sense that we're used to. Ships have been known to go into the Warp and come out years later, crews having aged only days, or return before they left, with the crew dead of old age. Not a fun place, but useful."

Silence. Daria tried to break the tension.

"Jane, your eyes. They're scaring me."

Still nothing.

"Well, I guess if you don't want to come…" 

Jane cut her off. She'd thought it over, and decided that even if Daria really was to blame, she could forgive her. It was just so great to have her back. "Please, Daria, you know I'm behind you. Besides, it's my chance to rub it in their faces. I'm right, and they're wrong."

"Well, you know what they say about payback." Daria was a little uncomfortable with this, but thought that if her parents had really forced Jane to go that far, maybe they deserved a little payback.

It was at this point that Daria realized how hungry she was. She looked at Jane and realized that they were both thinking almost the same thing. Jane spoke first.

"So, up for a little Burger Lord breakfast? I'd say Pizza King, but they aren't open this early."

"Sounds like a plan. Lemme just go get my clothes out of the wash and change. I think people might not appreciate my leg's elegant utility, or the certain ascetic qualities a weapon or four bestow on an outfit."

---

20 minutes later, they walked out of the Burger Lord, egg and cheese sandwiches in hand. It was still pretty early, and the rising sun glinted off the buttons on Daria's coat. Despite her toning down of her clothing, her coat and her scar still drew stares from those few people who were actually awake at 8:00 in the morning on a Sunday. In an attempt to be at least somewhat less conspicuous, Daria had sheathed her sword and wrapped it in a spare sheet they had found in one of Jane's closets. She still wore her trench coat, because it made good concealment for the weapons she had insisted on carrying, but her grenades, extra ammo, canteen, officer's cap, gloves, and dataslate were in a duffel bag that Jane had supplied. Her armor was concealed beneath her vest, her prosthetic foot safely hidden inside her boot along with her extra combat knife, and her medallion hung around her neck under the trench coat. This medal was in reality a small force-field generator, called a rosarius. It could stop bullets, energy weapons, and sometimes even physical blows. It wasn't 100% reliable, but it had saved her life before, and she only ever took it off for showers and sleep. It had been a gift from an Imperial priest- she had saved him and his parish in a battle against a traitor guard regiment on Bellis Coronae after her own regimental commander was killed by an errant artillery shell. He gave her his rosarius as thanks.

As they walked, Jane filled her in on the happenings lately in Lawndale. Apparently, she hadn't been the only student of Lawndale High to go missing in the past two years. Jodie and Mack disappeared about a year after Daria did. The police had investigated, but the popular opinion was that they'd eloped, hoping to escape their moronic peers and overbearing parents and get married. Some rich kid who lived on the outskirts of town also disappeared. The police thought it might be a ransom kidnapping, but no note was ever received. Probably just some teenage rebellion against snotty parents. Jane wondered early on if perhaps it was her ex-boyfriend, but they hadn't parted on the best of terms and she decided she didn't care enough to find out. Brittany and Kevin had also gone missing, though their disappearance was somewhat more ominous. The police found Kevin's Jeep, empty, parked in the abandoned quarry, with the key still in the ignition. There was a blanket laid out on the grass a few yards away, but no other evidence of any sort that might lead to their discovery. Jane conveyed her irritation that the police dropped their investigation into the disappearance of a disaffected "nerd girl" after six months but conducted door-door questioning and were still working overtime when the quarterback and head cheerleader go missing. Daria merely nodded her assent- She'd assumed something like that might happen. Typical Lawndale. But it had created more than a little paranoia in the local community, and the students bore the brunt of it.

"…Anyway, Ms. Li has gotten even worse, if that's possible. There's a mandatory self defense course and an under-eighteen youth curfew now, in response to the disappearances. Barch teaches the course. Good for the girls, very, very bad for the guys. Hey- they should hire you! I think you could teach the ol' battleaxe a thing or two." Daria looked at her for a second before responding.

"Not sure that's such a good idea. My particular style of martial arts is somewhat… lethal. I might hurt someone."

"Still, wouldn't it be great to just storm in and kick some ass? Barch has had it coming for years."

"True as that may be, I still don't think it would be particularly wise to just waltz in and break her neck in front of half the school. That, and I don't plan on ever returning to that building, anyway. It ranks about a two on my top ten worst experiences list- right below fighting tyranids in close combat and right above being the victim of an artillery barrage. At least with the artillery, there's a chance that you might be put out of your misery." Daria smirked. Her sarcasm _was_ coming back.

Their conversation carried them along down the roads of Lawndale, and they soon found themselves in front of red brick façade of Fortress Morgendorffer. It looked pretty much the same as Daria remembered it- large windows, black door, and white trim. The garden seemed a little better kept, though. Daria's parents had never really had time for yard work, and there was no amount of money that you could have paid Daria or her sister to do it. So usually it was kept down to bushes and simple things. Now, there were a variety of flowers and small trees lining the walkway up to the front door, and flowers lining the base of the house.

"Ready, Amiga?" 

Daria steeled herself, and sighed. "Ready as I'll ever be. Come on. Waiting is the hardest part."

Daria and Jane approached the front door and rang the bell. There was silence, and then they heard a strained voice shout "Coming!" followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. A frazzled Helen, still in her nightclothes, opened the door, and saw Jane first.

"Jane, what the _hell_ are you doing here? It's eight o' clock in the morning on a Sunday, for _Pete's_ sake-"

"Mrs. Morgendorffer-"

"I spend all day every weekday at the office, even _Saturday_, and you come on my one day of rest? Ms. Lane-"

"Mrs. Morgendorffer, I-"

Helen turned to look at Daria, and the way she was dressed. "And you bring your _weirdo_ friends with you! I swear, girl, the very next chance I get, I'm going to-"

"Mrs. Morgendorffer!"

"Ugh! _What?_"

Daria spoke up. "Mom?"

Helen was taken aback. Until now, her attention had been drawn to the "weirdo friend's" unusual clothing and massive scar. But now she focused on the face, and the color of the tied back hair, and the eyes… those intelligent, familiar eyes…

"Oh my God… Daria…"

Helen practically fell forward and embraced Daria, who reacted quickly, dropped her bag, and kept them both from falling. Helen wept bitterly and wrapped her arms tightly around Daria's back, her head on her daughter's shoulder.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

All Daria could do was put her arms around Helen and let her cry into her shoulder.


	6. Chapter Six

For the first time in a long time, Daria lacked direction. All of her relationships in the past six years had been professional or friendly, and none were very close, except one. Not that she was likely to ever see him again, given the circumstances. Making lots of friends in the Imperium was simply too risky- it was likely that you or your newfound friend might be dead in a few weeks or months. But it was peacetime here. Relationships were expected, but Daria simply had no experience for it. Her mother cried on her shoulder, but Daria was at a loss.

_Well, I'm happy to see you too, Mom,_ she though to herself. _Like that would sound sincere. What do I say?_

Luckily, Jane was quick on her feet. She edged around the pair in the doorway and motioned inside, to the kitchen. Daria met her gaze and got the message.

"…Come on, Mom. Let's sit down." Daria put her arm around her mother's shoulder and led her into the kitchen in the same way that soldiers lead wounded comrades. As much as she hated herself for thinking of it, that's how it felt.

_Just another shell-shocked recruit to cheer up.__ Aren't I the caring daughter?_

Helen also put her arm around Daria, for support.

_Ugh, I hate this physical contact. All those damn close engagements. I could have broken her arm before. Hell, I almost did. Good thing these defensive reflexes come with self-discipline. _

Helen was still sobbing when Daria sat her down at one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Jane first retrieved Daria's things, and then went about making coffee, figuring that she should keep out of the way until the air was a bit clearer. Daria still held her mother's hand but said nothing.

Helen was an island of disorganization in an otherwise spotless kitchen. Where her hair looked like a bird's nest, her night gown was wrinkled, and her face glistening with tears, the kitchen had not a fork out of place. The oven shone, the knives were polished, and the toaster gleamed. Daria, despite her efforts to remain focused on the task at hand, was amazed. She'd never seen the kitchen this clean before. As she stole furtive glances at the room, Helen slowly regained a measure of coherency. Her speech was frantic, like she had volumes to speak but only seconds to say them.

"My God, Daria, I thought you were gone- I- I'd finally done it, driven you away for good, you just disappeared, poof, left, and it was our fault, my fault, I'm so sorry, I yelled and I thought you would understand but you left and I couldn't find you and Eric and the school didn't care and the police didn't care and no one cared and I had to work and Jane- oh, Jane, I'm sorry, you were right and it was my fault…and…and…"

Helen collapsed into sobs. Hesitantly, Daria took her other hand.

"It- it's OK, mom. I'm here."

"I, I… I know. God, look at me! I'm such a horrible mother! You left, Quinn never talks to me, Jake treats me like a houseguest, your best friend hates me, and all I ever do is work! Why do I even try?" Helen looked at Daria, desperate for an answer that she knew Daria, of all people, could not give her.

"Mom… you're not all that bad. It wasn't your entire fault I... well, left. I had a lot of other things on my mind that week… I didn't mean to stay away. I got…sidetracked. And then I couldn't get back, till now."

"But it's still my fault! I should have paid more attention to you, listened… hell, cared about you! Where was I when you needed me? The office. Where was I when Quinn needed me, or Jake? The office." Helen sat up in her chair and raised her hands to the ceiling. Her voice seemed to rise with them.

"I hate that place! I really do! I hate Eric, I hate my desk, I hate all my papers, I hate yelling at clients, I hate my cell phone! All of it! But you know why I hate it so much?- It's all I have left. The only place where I matter anymore. The only thing I'm really good at. When you're gone, when Quinn's out avoiding me with her friends, when Jake's given up on me, I still have the office. The fing office!" With that, Helen's fervor peaked, and she slumped back down into her chair. She continued on in a whisper.

"Oh, Daria, can you ever forgive me? God, I'm so horrible. Please forgive me. Please." Helen started crying again. Daria was reminded of a little girl she had seen on a battlefield once. The girl had pleaded desperately with the soldiers for the chance to see her mommy and daddy again. Although it pained her, Daria could not allow it. Daria wasn't sure which pair of charred corpses were the girl's parents, and Daria didn't see a need to show the child any more death that day. The best she could do was find a sister from the local convent and put the girl in their care. Right now, Helen, despite the weariness in her eyes and the lines on her cheeks, could have been that girl. The desperation, the tiny glimmer of hope in her eyes, the tears. It was all there. Daria, despite her cynicism and her battle-hardened exterior, was moved. She had decided years ago that she'd forgive her parents if she ever saw them- but now that she was back, the immediacy of the situation had confused her. Things were clear again. If this woman had ever sinned against her, the torment that she had obviously endured was certainly penance enough.

"I do, mom. I forgive you. I'm here. It's all right. Here. Have some coffee." Daria studied her mother some more and though on her own words.

"Thanks," muttered Helen, still holding back tears. She sipped at her coffee and looked despondent. Her eyes stared forward but saw nothing. She took another sip of coffee, but then looked down at the cup, and chuckled weakly.

"Heh. I shouldn't be drinking this. My doctor says it's bad for me." She put the cup on the table.

_The doctor's probably right,_ thought Daria. She studied her mother's face. There were deep pockets under her eyes, and hard wrinkles on her face. Daria could tell that if she really needed anything right now, it was rest. She looked tired enough that even caffeine might not keep her awake.

_Maybe she _should_ lay off the caffeine. And I need to talk to Jane about this. I know she's pissed at Helen, but how could she miss her being that close to breaking down? Like she just did?_

"Mom, you look exhausted. Why don't you leave that coffee here and go back to bed? Jane and I can wait here in the kitchen for everyone else to wake up." Helen stared at Daria absently while she pondered this suggestion. It seemed to take her a moment to grasp the foreign concept of rest. A moment later, she nodded.

"Mm. That would be good." She rose, her mind elsewhere, and headed for the stairs. Daria followed her into the living room and could see the weariness in her step as she padded up the stairs. Daria walked back in the kitchen and sat at the table opposite from Jane.

"Did you know she was like this?"

Jane put on a puzzled look. "Like what?"

"Overworked and neurotic. Or rather, more so than usual. On the brink of breaking down."

"Well, not really…"

Daria screwed up her face in disbelief. "Come on! You didn't notice that? Nothing at all? No warning signs? Holy emperor, the number of people I've seen in almost exactly the same state… hell, even I was like that when I was on the streets of that hiveworld. You're lucky she didn't snap violently. I've seen it happen, seen squads get taken apart when the stress gets to a soldier."

"Daria, this is your _Mom!_ She's not some soldier out on a battlefield you can just send back to the infirmary! And no, I didn't see any "warning signs." They kicked me out, remember? I haven't seen her in months. And even if I had, do you think I could have just told her to go get therapy for being neurotic? She would have told me to go to hell. Until just now, I was PNG here."

Daria was embarrassed. _It's true. I _was_ in "commander mode" there. Just... ugh. Everything's gone to hell here._ "I, um… Sorry. I overreacted."

Jane was forgiving. "Don't worry about it. Just tone down the Sgt. Hartman routine-" Jane froze and stared at the hallway behind her friend. Daria, sensing trouble, spun around and balanced low in a fighting stance, her right hand on the handle of her knife. Daria scanned the hallway, looking for threats, and found… Quinn. Quinn stood in the hallway, hair frazzled, in her pajamas. She looked shocked at the sudden movement, but her expression quickly turned to recognition, and then anger.

"You! What the hell are you doing here? Decided you're not too good for us after all? Ugh!"

_So much for "Welcome back"_, though Daria.


End file.
